


sirensong

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Drug Addiction, Hallucinations, M/M, Mental Instability, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, i think i got them all haha shit sorry if not.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:51:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John shouts and throws the newspaper at you, tells you to get your act together and you cackle because he is your act, intermission, finale, and scene, the curtains are rolling down and he's slamming the door behind him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sirensong

**Author's Note:**

> cross posted from [tumblr](http://turntechtricks.tumblr.com/post/34338840592/day-fourteen-wind-john-dave-sharp-elbows-and)

Sharp elbows and long legs. Your first impression of John Egbert is all disjointed angles and elegant fingers mismatched with soft eyes and a shy grin.

It didn't take long for you to get him in your trap. Hide him away from the monsters with their lipsticked grins and bedroom looks. You'd taken one look and known you weren't going to let the little dweeb slip slide fall into their boring all-american dreams of picket fences, disguised prisons with preened daffodils at their entrances.

You handcuff him to your bed and watch him squirm beneath you, long drawn out pants and warm breath against your hip. " _Dave_ ," he'd whine and it was like a million screams of a million souls wrapping around your head and making you dizzy with ecstasy, all you ever needed in life curled against you in hot flesh and breathy moans.

He'd cry those first few times, tell you he was sorry and you'd croon at him, tell him he was beautiful and perfect and you believed every word that came out of your mouth.

He told you about how sometimes he thought he could hear the air around him, knew days before storms were coming the damage they would cause, and you'd passed him the joint because hell, if anyone needed an edge taken off, it was this kid.

High school isn't anything more than a catching second and then your bro is bothering you about college applications but you tell him to go fuck himself in hell and dodge the broken sword he throws at your head. You laugh and tell him you'll be back later and don't bother apologizing when it's a week before you stumble back in.

John tells you he's applying for film school, wants to be an actor he says and you grin, push your lips against his and whisper congratulations with your whiskey breath.

You kiss him down into your shared bed, you've moved into a new apartment now, didn't bother saying goodbye to your shitty guardian who didn't give a fuck anyway. The angry messages he leaves on your phone are just for show, you tell yourself roughly before lighting up again.

John goes to film school and you go through the motions of applying for jobs but you both know you're completely content to keep living in a shitty studio room, skylights entertaining you into submission, hands of the clock ticking hard in your ears. Life's passing you by but you're happy with John's mouth on your dick and your hand in his greasy hair. _This is living_ you think and laugh.

It's a late night and you're especially tired, didn't get enough money from your shit job at taco bell that didn't last more than a week anyway. Your dealer refused your shoddy appearance and plea for an i o u. John shouts and throws the newspaper at you, tells you to get your act together and you cackle because he is your act, intermission, finale, and scene, _fin_ , the curtains are rolling down and he's slamming the door behind him.

You fall down flat when he leaves and for a while you think maybe this was the end of the world, the grand apocalypse your thirteen-year-old self feared late at night, huddled in bloodred blankets and a shuddering waning existence.

It's only two days but it feels longer than any hour you've ever lived through, seconds dragging into minutes into hard breathing and a needle in your arm. It's been years since you resorted to shooting up, the vague sensations of blood mingling with muted substances making your head feel heavier. Drooping eyelids and shaking fingers and he's walking back in the door, telling you he loves you and he's sorry, so sorry, for being stupid and leaving him, and you _left me goddamnit john i was dying and you weren't here_.

You wake up with a splitting headache and groan at the feel of a half-cold bed.

He comes back eventually, forty eight hours of suffering and withdrawal from the shallow breaths of John's sleeping form, the feel of his unshaven skin against your skinny thighs.

You shake and beg him for forgiveness, hands clenched in unbidden anger but John kisses you, tells you to be quiet, you're just fucked up, you'll clean up, won't you Dave?

You nod and make empty promises even as he shakes his head and lets you drag him to bed.

Time passes and you notice vaguely that the wind is cold here. Goosebumps pebble your freckled skin and you shiver. The stars are directly above you, unobscured by the dirty glass you're used to. You scratch at your arm, shit, still bleeding, and hope to hell John remembers the place you took him once years before, his nervous grin all but gone as you introduced him to the man you'd been dealing with since you were thirteen years old and pimpled and shaken by visions of dead birds and knives in people's chests.

You shiver and wonder why it's so cold here. You dream of a warm bed and soft lips and bitten-down fingernails. You dream of a needle slipped tight and perfect inside your vein. You dream of stupid smiles and crooked looks. John grins down at you, offers you his hand and suddenly you're enveloped in heat and a giddiness you haven't felt since--

You cough, hands splattered in blood, and you frown because your fingertips are turning blue and John isn't anywhere near you. The wind blows cooler down the alley, over your slumped form and you close your eyes. The sky is too close here, it's smothering you, you can't breathe right.

Someone walks by you. They gasp and near you for a moment, eyes wide and green and not blue not blue not blue. They leave just as fast and you're grateful for your returned peace.

You hear a siren a while later (hours minutes seconds _who gives a shit_ ) and you hope it doesn't take the medics too long to find your body, you don't want John worrying very long.


End file.
